


A Good Man

by kuriositet



Series: Free To Love [3]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Grief, I just have a lot of feelings okay, M/M, Tears, about Crispus, and Agron being the best big brother in the world, and Castus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuriositet/pseuds/kuriositet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how short a time Crispus had with Castus, his passing proves difficult to get past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Man

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before, during and after Victory. Contains spoilers.  
> I took some creative liberty with the passing of time.
> 
> Much gratitude to my lovely Yasmin for once again reading this over for me.  
> Any remaining mistakes are my own.

The waiting is the worst part. Crispus looks to the horizon; spear clutched tight in hand, and flinches at the sound of light footsteps behind him.

“There is yet no sign of them?” Laeta asks, brow furrowed and hands pressed together in front of her. Her shoulders and arms are tense, as if she is trying to hold herself together.

“There is not.” He wonders how long they will wait. It is her call, yet he is not sure she will be able to break camp if Spartacus and the others do not return. She stands completely still, eyes fixed somewhere far ahead, and he follows the line of her eyes, thinking she might have seen something, but there is just empty land. She turns and he expects her to leave, but instead she finds a small rock to sit on, sharp eyes finding the horizon once more.

She is silent for a long while, the sun moving slowly across the sky, before she speaks again. “You are the pirate’s boy, are you not?”

Crispus is surprised by the personal nature of the question, and it allows a blush to stain his cheeks. “I am with Castus, yes,” he says.

She waits a moment, and then asks, “Is he a good man?”

Coming from anyone else, the question would have angered Crispus on behalf of Castus, but not when it is Laeta. He would not say he knows much about what happened to her, not more than anyone else in the camp, but it is common knowledge that Crassus sold her to Heracleo as a slave and that she was branded as such before she took the man’s life. Crispus has heard about Heracleo and his betrayal many times. However, he has also heard about Heracleo and the love Castus held for the man, his brother, tales from long ago, a life separate from this. There were no apologies or excuses, just stories.

“Yes,” Crispus says, a smile finding its way onto his face despite the growing concern for the man he so recently has given heart to. “He is a great man.”

*

Crispus is on his way to the training area with Sibyl who wishes to watch and perhaps try her hand with sword as well. Not to stand on field of battle, she explains when he voices his surprise. “But to keep myself and others safe when the Gods cannot.”

“You speak of Gannicus?” he asks with a teasing smile, but then they reach their destination and Crispus looks up to see Castus and Nasir engaged in what looks like a fight to the death. 

“I thought today was for training, not fighting one another to death. The games are over, are they not?” he asks, turning to Lugo who is the one standing closest, watching gleefully as Castus ducks under Nasir’s spear before getting hit in the head as Nasir swings it a second time. 

“Your little man has thirst for blood,” Lugo says, and it takes Crispus a moment to understand he is not speaking to him, but to Agron who is sitting down on his other side. Last night he had looked as if the lightest breeze would send him to the afterlife. Now he looks much the same, but as if he has had some hours to rest and eat and regain some strength. Agron does not look worried, though he does not look amused either like one would expect.

“Agron?”

Agron looks up just as Castus is knocked to the ground, Nasir sweeping his feet out from underneath him. Crispus’s heart is pounding in his chest. Logically, he knows Nasir is not going to kill Castus, but when the very sharp point of Nasir’s spear is hovering mere inches from Castus’s face, Crispus finds he cannot think rationally.

“Nasir,” Agron calls out. “I think lesson well learned.” Nasir withdraws his spear and steps away, moving toward Crispus, Lugo and Agron. His gaze is harsh, but softens when he spots Crispus in the crowd.

“Lesson?” Crispus asks, taking a step forward. Nasir smiles and moves to take his arm, but Crispus shakes his head and steps around him, walking over to help Castus to his feet. “What did you do to anger him so?”

Wiping at his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand, Castus does not answer. “You did not appear to desire death when I left your tent earlier.” He cups Castus’s cheek in his hand and is finally able to meet his eyes that hold sadness rather than the anger he had expected.

“I did not seek quarrel,” Castus says. “Yet to fight stood the only choice when asked to stay far from you.” Crispus breaks into a wide smile, he simply cannot help it, and pulls Castus close and presses a soft, yet lingering kiss to his lips.

“Next time he shall have to challenge us both.”

*

It is only a few hours later when Nasir and Agron arrive on horseback along with a few others, carrying a bloody, seemingly dead Spartacus with them. For a long while there is so much going on in the camp that Crispus just finds himself falling into the background, much like he would have while he yet stood a slave.

He watches as Sibyl and Laeta scramble to gather things to treat Spartacus’s wounds, and hears Sibyl point out how it is good that they did not yet remove the spears from his chest, or he would have bled out before they could get back. Nasir and Agron never leave Spartacus’s side, speaking in low voices—too low for Crispus to make out the words—to the women as they work and finally aid them in removing the spears.

Later, when Spartacus awakes and they all gather around him; Agron, Nasir and Laeta kneeling the closest by his side, saying their final goodbyes, Crispus feels tears stinging his eyes, but he blinks them away. He never knew the man in person and, though Spartacus and his rebellion are what gave Crispus the courage to finally slip from grasp of his Dominus, he will not shed tear. It is a victory for the man who after all lived and died a free man.

They bury the body after a short debate about what to do with it, hiding it under rocks and finally Agron’s shield with the red serpent on it. Apparently it held some meaning, though Crispus does not know what, and it is not his place to ask. Then they are ready to go, and it is only now that Crispus lets himself really think. He catches Belesa’s eye and can see the same thought going through her mind.

They are leaving because no one else is coming. No one else survived. Not Saxa. Not Castus. Not Gannicus, he thinks, watching Sibyl gather her things. 

“Crispus,” Agron says, and Crispus realizes he has been standing in the exact same spot ever since they brought Spartacus back. He feels empty.

“He fell,” Crispus says in a quiet whisper, lowering his gaze to the ground though he can hear and feel Agron move closer. A hand on his shoulder tells him Nasir is there as well. “Did you see it? Can you be sure? He may have gotten away. We should wait.”

“It has been too long,” Agron replies. “All of those who did not perish in field of battle will have met fate upon cross.” Crispus flinches, he cannot help it. The idea of Castus meeting such a horrid end is unfathomable. 

“Yet know that Castus will not be among them. He died an honorable man, a warrior.”

“You were there?” Crispus turns away from Nasir’s touch, but to face him, to meet eyes blackened with grief.

“We both were,” Nasir says softly. “He spoke his last words of you for us to hear.”

A harsh sob racks his body as the reality of the situation hits him. He will never again hear Castus’s voice. Castus’s last words had been about him, even for him, perhaps, but he will never hear them from his lover. Only Nasir and Agron can relay the message now, and Crispus is suddenly not sure he even wants to hear it.

“Don’t,” he says, eyes blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. “Don’t tell me.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice, and takes a step back, just needing to get away, but backs straight into something hard and tall. Agron. 

“Apologies,” he tries to say, but firm hands just turn him around and he finds himself enveloped in warm embrace. Agron smells like sweat and leather, blood and metal, like war, and it is such a familiar thought that Crispus manages to find comfort in it. Agron is big, his arms wrapped around Crispus’s shoulders make him feel safe and protected from everything. The warm, protective hand in his hair makes him feel like a boy.

Crispus lets go, and he cries.

*

Crispus breathes heavily, and smiles. Half his face is pressed into Castus’s warm, damp skin, and he turns his head to press a kiss to it, and the taste of sweat and love lingers on his lips. Castus hand slides from Crispus shoulders, up the back of his neck and into his hair, making him shiver.

“Are you cold?”

“No,” Crispus replies, laughing softly and lifting his head off his lover’s chest. “What if I was? How would you keep me warm?” Castus chuckles, a sound that warms the heart, and cups Crispus’s cheeks in his hands, pulling him up for a kiss.

“I can think of a couple of ways.” Crispus likes the sound of that. He starts moving his hips in a slow, rotating motion as he leans in and deepens the kiss and all but purrs when Castus slides his hands down the curve of his spine to the swell of his ass.

The moment is soon interrupted by voices outside the tent, though. “Castus!” Nasir’s familiar voice calls, and Crispus groans. 

“Never a quiet moment around here, is there?” He presses his face against Castus’s collarbone, pressing a kiss there and one to his neck before rolling over, allowing Castus to get up. He watches Castus start to dress, only following a moment later.

“Castus,” he says, just as Castus is about to leave the tent, and reaches for his hand to tug him back. The strings of the bracelet Crispus gave him are coming undone, like they always do, and Crispus carefully ties them again, like he always does. “I would not have you lose this.”

“Because of the friend who gave it to you?” Castus asks, looking down to where their hands are touching.

“Because I would have you safe,” he replies, lifting a hand to tilt Castus’s chin up. “I would have you return to my arms.”

Castus is just about to respond when his name is called again. It is Agron this time, and he sounds a lot more impatient than Nasir had. “They do not stray from each other’s side at all these days, do they?” Crispus whispers, caressing Castus’s cheek absentmindedly. 

“Not if they can help it.” There is an implication in his words, and Crispus does not miss it.

“We are to lead a raid of a villa this night,” Nasir informs them when they at last emerge from Castus’s tent, which has become their tent. Crispus looks to Agron, who is still heavily bandaged and, as far as Crispus has seen or heard, has yet to grasp sword. Like Crispus expects, he shakes his head no, which means he is not to go with them. The thought does not worry Crispus; he knows that Nasir is as capable a fighter as any of the rebel leaders and Castus can hold his own against them for longer than most.

Crispus has yet to do much fighting outside of training and has not desired it, but now he finds himself wishing to join them on the raid. “I would go with you,” he says and receives three very different reactions from his company. Agron looks surprised and Castus worried whereas Nasir looks proud and happy.

“Offer is much appreciated,” Nasir says, and Crispus looks from him to Castus who is staring at Nasir, doing some very inventive and expressive motions with his face. “Yet Spartacus requires assistance in preparing the army for battle and needs someone to oversee it while he and others take another villa.”

Crispus is almost relieved that Nasir turned him down, and he knows that Castus definitely is. “Be safe, and know that I shall return,” Castus says, turning Crispus towards him. He hears Agron and Nasir exchange similar words and sees them lean in for a quick kiss in the corner of his eye, but when Crispus leans in to kiss Castus goodbye he does not see the point in holding back.

He looks after Castus and Nasir when they go, and feels Agron watching him closely after a few moments. “They will return,” Agron says.

“I know,” Crispus replies, though he does not know. How can he? Anything can happen during the raid, and only the Gods can know who will make it back and yet draw breath. He feels the weight of Agron’s hand on his shoulder and smiles. “Does Spartacus actually require my help, or did Nasir only say that to keep me here?”

Agron laughs, and though it has been a rare sight as long as Crispus has been with the rebellion, it has come to his understanding that it was not always so. “He does. We have a plan that will catch the Romans off-guard on field of battle.”

“And what kind of plan might that be?”

“We’re digging a trench,” Agron replies, and when he sees the highly skeptical look on Crispus’s face, he adds, “It will be a very special trench.”

*

Days pass. Months too, probably, though Crispus does not keep track of the phases of the moon. They make it past the mountains and gain lower ground once more, keeping as low a profile as they can until they are sure Crassus and Pompey are no longer chasing after stray rebels. They send groups of three or four into villages they pass, to have drink and meal at the inns and hear whatever rumors there may be.

Crispus never goes. He prefers to stay back and keep watch, preferably alone with only a spear to keep him company. Most nights everybody just lets him. Some nights he withdraws to his tent and lies in bed for hours upon hours, yet sleep will not come to him. Those nights end with him taking spear and assuming watch duty anyway.

This night is not one of those. It would have been, had Agron not placed a hand on Nasir’s arm and said, “Let him be,” as Crispus left evening meal half finished. They have respected Crispus’s wish not to tell him of Castus’s last words, though Crispus has seen how it tears at Nasir’s heart to keep silent. He is still not ready to hear them, though.

Sibyl joins him later in the night. She sits on the ground, not speaking, and he does not mind her company. He likes Sibyl. She is like a sister to him, though he is well aware that he has not been acting the part lately. He thought at first that she would be the one with whom he could find common ground, with her losing Gannicus like he lost Castus, but while he wallows in his grief, unable to pick himself up, she glows. She mourns and she prays, and she has become like a mother to the orphaned children in their group. 

“How can you stand it?” he asks and she looks up at him. “How does the thought of Gannicus never returning to your arms not tear you apart?” She struggles to stand up and Crispus offers his hand, which she accepts. Instead of letting go, though, she takes his hand and places it on her belly. Oh.

“The Gods have given me blessing of yet carrying part of him inside me,” she says, and Crispus wonders how he had missed this. He tries to smile because it is all he can do, and she seems to understand. “Do not be consumed by grief, Crispus. There are yet things worth living for.”

“I fear it may be too late for me.”

*

“You cannot be serious!”

“Crispus—”

“No. I do not want to hear it.” Crispus almost does not recognize his own voice, or the coldness of it. Emotions are running high… anger, sadness, betrayal, happiness stolen from him. 

“Look at me,” Castus asks. It is the last thing Crispus wants to do, but even so, he meets Castus’s eyes.

“I thought this held some meaning for you, as it does for me.” There is a twitch at the corner of Castus’s mouth and his eyes look wet with tears as Crispus continues, “It appears I was mistaken.”

“I have to fight,” Castus says. “And with Nasir and Agron standing with Spartacus, you are needed to go with the rest of our people to the mountains to give them protection.”

“So come with me,” Crispus pleads. “You had no desire to fight against Crassus until Nasir let you know where he and Agron stand. You do not have to fight. You have proved yourself time and time again. There is no need to give your life doing so when you too can serve purpose in protecting those who flee.”

“I need to do everything in my power to make sure you and the others can slip out of reach of the Republic.” Castus reaches out, cupping first one hand and then the other around Crispus’s cheeks and, when Crispus does not push him away, he moves his thumbs over his skin, wiping at tears Crispus does not remember shedding. 

“Let me stand by your side.” Castus but shakes his head. “I can fight.”

Castus smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. “You still expose flank when you launch attack. You do not mind your back. After successful strike you get over-confident and sloppy, and that is with spear. You have still not mastered sword.” Crispus squeezes his eyes shut. “In field of battle there are swords and spears striking at you from every angle at every second, something which you are not ready for.”

He speaks the truth; Crispus is sure he would not last long in battle against Crassus’s army, and that Castus would more than likely take stupid risks to try and keep him safe.

“If I cannot follow you, you should follow me,” Crispus asks again.

“I have a debt to repay,” Castus says. “To Nasir and Agron, but most of all to Spartacus.”

“What for?”

“For having set me upon path to you.”

“Would not the greater way to show gratitude be to stay with me?”

“Would that I had been a greater man, making the right decision would not be so hard.” Castus’s voice breaks towards the end and, with that, Crispus is done with words. He kisses Castus through the tears, not being gentle as he can be because there is simply no time for it.

They fall to bed in a tangle of limbs and clothing that needs to come off. Crispus does his best to savor every touch, every kiss, every last moment as they make love. He curls his fingers around the back of Castus’s neck, clawing with blunt fingernails as he mouths at Crispus’s neck before kissing his ear. 

“Kiss me,” he whispers, and Castus does, without any hesitation.

*

“It was your smile,” Agron says one night and Crispus has no idea of what he speaks. He is not keeping watch this night, or any night for that matter. There is no need for that when they have found a place to feel safe. Crispus has chosen to stay in a village east of the Rhine with Agron and Nasir, though everyone else had decided to go elsewhere. Agron was known in this village, by face and name, and when they had first arrived they had received news that nothing remained of Agron’s home village. Crispus stays because he has nowhere else to go, because with Nasir and Agron is the only place he can imagine Castus would be was he yet of this world.

“Your smile is why he lost heart to you,” he elaborates, and Crispus nods, showing that he heard. “I thought you might wonder, as I often do about Nasir.”

“He told you this?” Crispus questions as Agron takes seat next to him on the bench where he has been sitting for hours now as sleep will not come to him.

“There was no need to. You and Nasir are very similar,” Agron says, and Crispus wonders where is going with this. “I know how powerless I feel when faced with Nasir’s smile. I can only imagine your smile must possess the same power. Only the world has too long been absent it for me to prove my theory.”

“Had I but reason to,” Crispus replies.

“Perhaps if you open eyes and ears you shall find one,” Agron suggests. “I know of a certain young shepherd who should like nothing more than to see you smile.” Crispus nearly does smile at that, thinking about Raban, a young boy with dark hair and eyes to match his name. His interest has been clear since day one, yet hidden under guise of aiding Crispus in learning their tongue.

“Perhaps,” he says, though he cannot stop his mind from wandering, wondering if he can ever be truly happy again, or if he should.

“Know that Nasir and I shall not think less of you if you choose to leave. If you believe you would be happier elsewhere, perhaps with Sibyl, Laeta and the others, you should go.” Crispus has considered it, yet leaving Agron and Nasir has not been an option. There are still things left unsettled.

“What did he say?” he asks. “What did Castus say before he left this world?” he looks at Agron who appears surprised.

“Gratitude,” Agron starts, voice soft, “For now I know what it is to be you.” Crispus’s eyes fill with tears and he blinks them away. “He didn’t mention your name, but we always thought—”

“All he ever wanted was a companion. After he lost his brothers even more so. You gave him a second chance and he thought he had a debt to pay.” Agron touches his hand, and when Crispus looks down he finds familiar looking leather strings resting in his upturned palm. This time there are too many tears for him to blink away.

“It holds meaning?”

Crispus bursts out laughing, he cannot help it. Laughing through the tears, he replies, “None at all.”

Agron looks confused. “Oh, we thought… He pulled it off and pressed it into my hand with his final breath. It seemed significant.”

“I gave it to him the night we first lay together,” he says. “I told him it was a gift that had kept me safe, to make it seem like more than it really was, a poorly crafted bracelet that I made after coming to Sinuessa.” He closes his fist around the bracelet. “I was not sure he desired me.”

“He loved you.” Crispus nods, unable to speak. _He was a great man,_ he thinks as Agron slides a hand up his back to his neck and Crispus lets himself be pulled in, burying his face in Agron’s chest. It should not be so familiar, he thinks, but it is. He has come to count on both Agron and Nasir, but most of all Agron, to be there to pick him up when he falls down, to ground him with a simple touch.

“Leaving would not make me happy,” he says, turning his head so that his cheek rests against Agron’s collarbone. “This is where my family is.” He thinks Agron kisses the top of his head, but with his hair getting in the way, he cannot be sure.

“Then I would have you learn to speak our tongue.” Agron ruffles his hair when Crispus sits back.

“I suppose I should find out if Raban still wishes to teach me.”

“I am sure he does,” Agron says, laughing. Crispus gives a small, tentative smile but it feels strained because it has been so long since he had proper reason to smile. “It shall be a glorious day,” Agron says, standing up, “When you again find cause to smile.”

*

It is a wonderful thing, Crispus thinks. Pleasure. Something he has not before experienced. At least not in this way. He hides a smile in the crook of Castus’s neck and looks down at his fingers tracing patterns no one can see over Castus’s dark skin. Castus’s hand moves over his shoulder and Crispus all but purrs like a cat when his fingers caress his neck and disappear into his hair.

“You are a good man,” Crispus whispers, pressing a kiss to Castus’s pulse and then his lips, teasing them with the tip of his tongue until Castus opens up and invites him in.

“For you, I want to be. For you, I want to do the right thing.”


End file.
